Who Do You Think You Are?
by CrystallineMaple
Summary: The G8 visit New York City for a meeting, and Japan loses some sketches for his latest project, a manga entitled 'Hetalia.' America discovers it and convinces the rest of the G8 to read it, too - and they end up seriously regretting it. Multiple pairings.
1. Welcome to NYC

A/N: The title will change until I find the right one. I noticed almost all of my stories were about suicide or drama. I need a break! I'm attempting to do something slightly humorous - which will probably fail. Fair warning. And I wrote this on my phone, so if autocorrect totally whacks up... sorry. Please review and enjoy!

* * *

England exhaled loudly and adjusted his tie, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Everyone - meaning the G8 - was staying in some ritzy American hotel in New York City, and the meeting would be starting in a gathering room near the lobby.

G8 meetings were definitely not picnics. Fewer nations than a normal World Meeting meant fewer possible victims for Germany to shout at. Translation: England got yelled at more at G8 meetings than World ones.

The only nation who could escape a harsh German berating was probably Canada, because half the world forgot he even existed.

England was debating whether or not he had time for a quick cigarette when he became aware of someone pounding on his door. Sighing again, he rose effortlessly from the downy armchair he had been resting on and opened the door.

"Bonjour, Angleterre. How are you?"

England groaned, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "What are you doing here?"

France plastered a hurt expression on his face. "That isn't so nice, England. Why, I came to visit you, to... to discuss with you..." He smirked seductively.

"Ah, I see. No." England slammed the polished wooden door in his nemesis' face, relishing the echo of door hitting frame and France's shout of indignation.

"The meeting starts in ten minutes!" France called, the door half-muffling his voice. "You can't stay in there forever."

"You can't stay out there forever!" England called back. But the island nation's gut instinct told him that, yes, France would most likely stay out there until England came out of the room or until he withered away from dehydration. England frantically searched for another exit. He couldn't afford to be late to another meeting; Germany probably already had one eye on the clock, wondering...

England looked out the window. Light, fluffy flakes of snow were drifting down from the unusually gray sky. Bare, slender tree branches whipped around in the wind. If the city had been quiet, you would have been able to hear the breeze whistling through the air.

England was seven stories up. The only thing bordering the hotel's towering walls was a narrow stone ledge, frosted with a delicate, shining layer of ice.

Should he? Would he?

England quickly weighed his options. Outside in the hallway, France was waiting. Outside the window, there was a seven-story drop with rushing traffic and American citizens below. Not to mention light snow. And a space that allowed no room for tripping.

But, hell, scarier things had been done in Bond movies, right?

Besides, all England had to do was think of France, and that seven-story drop suddenly seemed a lot more appealing.

The choice was so simple, it wasn't even really a choice.

By the time France finally wedged the heavy door open, England's hotel suite was absolutely empty, and cold, bitter December air was rushing into the room via the open window.

* * *

Canada was thoroughly enjoying the G8 meeting. Not because it was interesting - oh, goodness, no. But because he went so unnoticed by everyone, he wasn't a suspect if, say, America's Coke turned out to be Diet or if a rather large fake bug was found in Germany's coffee. (Both his doing.)

Germany looked like he was about to explode. The fake bug had been one thing... not drinking beer in the morning had been another... and England being late, causing the meeting to get started fifteen minutes after schedule was, well, a recipe for disaster.

Until, finally -

"Sorry I'm late," England said, opening the door. Matthew stared at him. His tie was in disarray, snow was covering his dark suit, and his face was bright red as if he had been standing in the cold for a half hour.

France's jaw dropped. "What? How?"

Germany stood up, and everyone in the room flinched slightly. "Where were you?"

"I nearly broke my neck getting here," England snapped. "Please don't give me a hard time about it. Oh, sure, have your Chancellor sue me for being late. Super sorry." England found his seat and jerked his chair back, causing the legs to scrape loudly across the floor. Several people averted their eyes from the altercation or pretended to scroll through nonexistent information on their tablets.

Germany wasn't in the mood to pick a fight. He grunted and sat back down, frowning. "What were you saying, Japan?"

"O-oh, right!" the flustered Asian nation broke eye contact with Germany and looked down at the papers organized in front of him. "I was just saying, America-san seems to be correct..." There was no Switzerland to interrupt, so everyone listened to Japan halfheartedly murmur about America for a while.

Until, finally, America interrupted. "Look, Japan, I could listen to you go on about me all day, but I'm getting kinda hungry. Lunch break?"

"You gluttonous wanker! You just ate two whole"-

"No, no, a lunch break sounds wonderful! Please excuse me!" Japan stood up, grabbed his files and his tablet, bowed quickly at everyone in the room, and dashed off in a blur of dark hair.

"Hmm..." Germany narrowed his eyes. "Alright, everyone meet here in an hour. Do not be late." He fixed his piercing blue eyes on England for just a moment before exiting the room as well, followed by a cheerful Italy.

Canada was gathering his things when he saw America and England chatting on the other side of the empty room. He walked over, wondering what they were pointing at.

The two nations were standing near Japan's empty seat. Huh. Had Japan left a few papers behind? It appeared that way.

"What's that?" Canada had to ask twice before either country acknowledged him.

"Hello, Canada," England replied cordially. "I think Japan forgot some things. We should leave them here," he added, glancing pointedly at America, who was already sifting through the papers.

"Wow, they're drawings!" America exclaimed, his eyes wide with interest. "Just take a look at these!"

"Ugh... You've gotten them all out of order!" England snapped.

"Read 'em. Right to left," America said, scanning through the illustrations. He paused. "Wait... are these people...?"

England seemed to be thinking the same thing. "They're us! In... in manga form!"

"Ooh, A+++ for cultural references, Iggy," America snorted.

England rolled his eyes and elbowed America in the ribs.

"Hey, here's Germany," Canada said softly, holding up a picture of a shouting man. "And Italy."

"Look, dude, you're a ghost!" America laughed, shoving a paper into Canada's hands. "Hey, why am I always eating? I'm not always eating!"

England laughed. "Oh, yes you are."

America shrugged. "You two know I'm friends with Japan... I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I took this with me, would he?" America picked up the folder holding all of the illustrations and froze. "Hey, look, it has a name."

"Yeah... 'Hetalia,'" England read. "You shouldn't take his stuff, no matter how interesting..."

"But you were just about to kiss France," America pouted.

England's eyes widened and he turned crimson. "Okay, git, give me that!" He tried snatching the folder, but America danced away, surprisingly quick. "Haha, too slow!"

England glanced at Canada. "Come with us. Let's go eat and read Hetalia."

Canada nodded, pleased he was actually getting invited to something that wasn't mandatory. And watching America holding the folder, dodging a very angry England, Canada knew his lunch break was booked.


	2. Fangirls and Ships

A/N: This story's a pretty low priority for me, so sorry for the slow updates - school's been killing me!

* * *

"Don't touch the papers with your greasy fingers, git!"

"Sorry." America rolled his eyes and quickly wiped his hand on a napkin, setting his slice of pizza down and taking a sip of his soda. "So, this is Hetalia?"

"It would appear so," Canada replied.

America picked up a page. "Woah, look at this! Is that me?"

"The guy surrounded by burgers? Probably," England retorted.

The three nations were sitting inside a cheap pizza parlor near the hotel. You'd probably expect people of world-class - literal _world-class _- to eat somewhere expensive. After all, they were still dressed up in their suits and ties and were receiving some rather odd looks from other customers. America had recommended a nicer restaurant, but then snow started coming down harder, and the winds picked up.

Canada suggested just running into the first building to take shelter, but England was hell-bent on getting to the previously mentioned restaurant - until the Brit almost got hit by a car and a creepy old guy with a bag of candy tried to kidnap Canada. At that point, America figured that going to the nicer restaurant wasn't meant to be and just found the nearest place that sold food, which was - thankfully - a pizza parlor.

"Well, this weirdo with the giant eyebrows is obviously you, Iggy," America said, nudging the European with his elbow.

"Hmph. Where's Canada?"

"Maybe Japan forgot you, Canada!" America exclaimed, glancing across the table. "And we all just turned into girls... What the hell is running through Japan's mind all the time?"

"Cats, curse words, and fan service," Canada offered.

"I never knew!" America laughed, flipping through more pages. "He must have spent a long time on this. Wow."

"Did all of this stuff really happen?" England questioned. "Well, whatever. You wankers keep reading. I'm going to go outside for a smoke. Climbing down a perilous seven-story drop just to get yelled at by Germany is rather exhausting."

Canada and America exchanged puzzled looks. England walked outside and found a bench in front of the pizza parlor, lighting up. G8 meetings sucked so much. And this one was in America. New York City was just a bit too busy for him. And loud. And it was snowing and frigid, but the cigarette warmed him up a bit.

"Hey!"

England turned and saw a teenage girl standing a few feet away from him, eyes narrowed. He raised an eyebrow.

"You're smoking! That's, like, terrible for your lungs. Don't you want to be someone's Augustus Waters?"

England sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. Americans were so terribly rude and just plain stupid! Of course, the girl didn't know, but England was a nation. The only way he could die is if his country got dissolved, and that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

"Don't just roll your freaking eyes at me!"

"Look, I don't think you know who you're talking to," England muttered.

"YOU'RE BRITISH?! OH MY GOSH! Well, if you're British, I guess smoking is okay! In fact, it's kinda bad-ass. You're like Four! I can be your Tris! Heya, I'm kinda an expert on Britain. I tried Marmite once. And I watch Doctor Who!"

England's eye twitched. "Do you have a life, or do you just...?"

"Excuse me! The stuff I do has so much feels, it's totes not even real. And the SHIPS, OH MY GOD! Anyway, would you mind taking a selfie with me? I wanna post on my Tumblr that I met a British guy today."

England flinched. This girl was like a teenage American Poland. "Ships...?"

Her eyes widened like England had just burned a church down. "You don't know what ships are?!"

"Um... structures for transportation across bodies of water?"

"No, silly!" The girl brushed snow off the bench and sat down next to England. "It's like a relationship! When you pair two people together. Let's say, I don't know, you have a boyfriend named Peeta. A slash pairing! Your ship name with him would be - hey, where are you going?"

England, fed up with the girl's nonsense, discarded his cigarette and walked back into the pizza parlor, rubbing his forehead. He was just about to tell America and Canada he had seen enough and was ready to go back to the hotel, but...

America and Canada were gone.

* * *

"Japan? What's the matter?" Germany turned to look at his friend. "You look awfully shaky."

"I think I forgot something in the meeting room," the Asian nation said. "Could you excuse me for a moment? I'm going to go back and get it. You and Italy just go on to the restaurant. I'll catch up with you in a few minutes."

"Will you be able to find your way to the restaurant by yourself?"

"Yes, Germany-san. Don't worry. I'll be back soon." With that, Japan turned on his heel and walked briskly back to the hotel. The meeting room was down a hall off of the extravagant lobby, so Japan went directly there. In his haste to get out of the G8 meeting, he had accidentally left a manga he was working on. He had dubbed it Hetalia, after Italy and his ever-present uselessness.

But, of course, instead of just going over historical events, which would have been what any normal Western nation would have done, Japan just had to throw in all sorts of strange pairings and shojo-worthy drama and kawaii-ness.

To Japan's immense surprise, England was already sitting in the meeting room.

"England-san? What are you doing here?"

A slight blush colored the British man's face. "Oh, Japan. I was with America and Canada, but it appears they've ditched me."

"But we've still got forty-five minutes! Surely you aren't going to sit here for all that time?"

"Eh, well... Personally, I've had enough of Americans for a bit, what about you, huh?"

"Y-yes. Did you happen to see a folder around here...?"

_Agh! I knew we shouldn't have taken Japan's things, _England thought, flinching.

The color drained from Japan's face. "England-san? You know where it is, don't you?"

"Um... I'm sorry! America took it, and... he and Canada - um... it's okay! It was great!"

Japan's narrow eyes widened and he uncharacteristically lunged forward and grabbed England's dress shirt collar. "Oh, no!"

"Japan, it's alright!"

Japan shook his head, stepping back. "Did they reach the yaoi chapter?!"

England paused. "Um... no? What's yaoi?"

"Good-bye, England-san!" Japan called, bowing and rushing out of the room.

England's question went unanswered. Shrugging, the island nation pulled out his phone and opened Google.

_Google: What is yaoi?_

Within a second, images began filling the screen. England turned a furious shade of scarlet and tossed his phone across the empty table.

Yikes.


End file.
